Playa Hatin'

This pan pipes situation has got me thinking: when did I develop such a strong dislike for new-age music and/or jam bands and does my aversion to the street performer's covers of Simon & Garfunkel make me a bad person? The first concert I attended sans parents was Phish at the Delta Center. I got high for the first time on second-hand smoke and accepted a vegan burrito from some dreadlocked chick in the parking lot. That giant piece of heaven stands as the best burrito I've ever had. In high school, quite a few of my secret crushes wore Birkenstocks, smelled like patchouli and listened to bootleg Dead recordings. I went to drum circles and wore a hemp necklace under my basketball jersey. Eventually, however, I learned that pot makes me paranoid, patchouli smells like ass, and Black Sabbath rocked way harder than Jerry Garcia ever could. While I'm sure the Main Street busker is a great guy, really, I can't help but think he'd be better off sending his self-produced albums to journalists, club owners, concert promoters and radio stations. A high-profile A&R rep is unlikely to discover him in front of the Coffee Garden. Perhaps more unsettling are the green-haired hippie kids dancing to his music--the same ones who ask me for spare change every day while they sit and read beat poetry. It seems they could find better things to do (um, get a job?) than flash their butt cracks at me on my way to lunch. I know this makes me seem like a hardened cynic. Maybe it was all of those years schlupping bagels, coffee and pub food from 16 on that made me cold. Maybe I'd be free and open-minded if I hadn't worked for the man. (Jamie Gadette)